


Lost at Sea

by TehLadyCav



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Killing, Lost Love, Walkers (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLadyCav/pseuds/TehLadyCav
Summary: William "Rigs" Riganti was a normal jet mechanic in the Navy before the end of the world. Once the dead began to rise, he was forced into the role of leader. It's a role he detests, but he is the only one willing to step up and make the decisions no one else will make. All he's trying to do is get back to his wife, whom he neglected over the years. All Rigs wants is a chance to start anew with her.





	

William “Rigs” Riganti jammed the knife into the neck of his friend, Timothy Johnston. Instead of falling as expected, Johnston kept lurching towards him, arms outstretched, teeth gnashing. The aptly nicknamed “Pale Ale” was now whiter than death. His normally green eyes were now muddy and murky and covered with a cataract-like film.  Dried blood stained Johnston’s ripped, green flight deck jersey from shoulder to belly. Something had torn into his shoulder, deep enough to leave the bone exposed.

The sight of his former friend made his stomach churn. Luckily, Rigs still had enough wits about him to snag the collar of Johnston’s shirt and throw him to the side. The body of his friend landed with a sickening thud as it toppled over a desk. Several shelves worth of stuff crashed onto the ground, echoing across the supply room.

“What are you doing?” Clara Snyder asked in a rather squeaky voice.

He jumped and spun about, he hadn’t even known Snyder was standing there. His heart lay in his throat. “Go get Chief, somebody. Johnston just fucked tried to attack me twice. He’s…he’s not acting like himself.”

“How is he still moving?” Snyder squealed, throwing her hands over her face. As if she could will Johnston away by closing her eyes. Annoyed, Rigs glanced back over his shoulder. To his horror (and Snyder’s), Johnston pushed himself clumsily to his feet. Things like post-its, tape and papers slipped off Johnston and onto the floor. The knife in his neck quivered, but did not move. Nor was there any blood coming from the wound. Not even a trickle.

He backed up and snagged Snyder’s green shirt. “Let’s fucking go. We’ll lock him in and get Chief.”

“They just called All Hands, Rigs,” she said, lowering her arms and pressing her sleeve to her mouth as Johnston shuffled over to them.

Rigs jumped into action, dragging Snyder down the corridor and to the left. At first, she didn’t budge until he jerked her practically off her feet. After a moment of staring, however, she clomped along behind him, boots echoing in the corridor until they reached the end of the hall and hurtled themselves through the door, slamming it shut behind them. There was nothing to lock it with, but it might buy them time.

On the other side, they heard Johnston moaning. The undulating, guttural noise gave Rigs goosebumps and made his hair stand on end. Beside him, Clara whimpered and looked up at him with doe-like eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said tersely and headed for the stairs.

Up they went, Rigs still holding a fistful of Snyder’s shirt. They rounded the corner and Rigs nearly slammed into Jamie Evans, whose red spotted face looked abnormally pale underneath the yellow fluorescent lights of the ship.

“Jamie?” Rigs said, snapping his free hand underneath Jamie’s aquiline nose. The man blinked at him and shook his head.

“Maverick….he was eating somebody. Ripping into the flesh…Kilgore tried to stab him, but he kept eating…”

The way Johnston was coming after him…

“Cannibals?” Rigs asked.

Jamie nodded. “Yes.”

“Let’s fucking go, man,” Rigs said and pushed Jamie forward as he hauled Snyder behind him, leaving both his hands occupied. If another one of those people…things? Cannibals? came after them, they’d all be screwed. He pushed down the bubbling sense of irritation building in the back of his head. All they had to do was reach Chief. Then he could turn Snyder and Jamie over and figure out what the fuck to do.

They stepped out into the flight deck, blinking against the bright lights, illuminating the jets and people running around, giving them an odd, halo effect. Even with the lighting on the deck, it was hard to see at night and as the three of them made their way onto the runway, Rigs had a terrifying feeling that he’d just trod over someone’s hand.

Several gunshots came blasting to their left. Rigs snagged the back of Jamie’s jersey and pulled him and Snyder down with him. He tried to ignore the sudden screaming and the animalistic moans coming from the same direction as the gunshots.

Doing the equivalent of the duck walk from MEPS, he corralled both Snyder and Jamie towards the edge of the flight deck, where the rafts were, and where most of the source of lights were. All around them, shadowy figures raced up and down the deck, yelling or screaming. Nothing like any of the drills they’d been taught.

“Stay low,” he said in his best commanding voice. Neither Snyder nor Jamie were inclined to disobey him and they followed, silently.

Rigs grinded his teeth together, getting more and more frustrated the closer they came to the starboard side of the carrier. Two of the most useless people were stuck to him like glue and he couldn’t shake them, he was now responsible for them.

 “Come on,” he shouted over the din of people exclaiming all around him. “This way.”

He came to a dead halt when one of the cloudy-eyed cannibals turned their way. Rigs shoved Jamie on top of Snyder and stood at his full height. He didn’t have his knife anymore. He had no weapons but his fists.

Rigs didn’t recognize the sailor advancing towards him, but it didn’t fucking matter. He stepped forward and sucker punched the cannibal in the jaw, making it stumble backwards. It was not even stunned, it simply stepped forward and reached for Rigs, who stood, confused. His own hand hurt like a bitch, and yet this fucker was still coming at him after that. What the fuck were these things?

He didn’t have time to process his thoughts because a gunshot rattled off to his right and exploded through the head of the former sailor. Rigs was splattered with congealed crimson blood and soft, gray brain matter.

“Yo! Rigs, over here,” a familiar voice called out to him. The person who owned the voice stepped out of the shadows and Rigs nearly pissed himself with relief at the sight of the tall, redneck.

“Fucking hell, Burns. What the fuck?”

Burns shook his head and stuffed the Beretta into the waistband of his NWU’s. “Don’t know, but these things aren’t human.”

His dark eyes fell on Jamie and Snyder, still huddled on the deck. Burns glanced back at Rigs with a knowing look in his eye and a raised brow.

“Come on,” Rigs said with a sigh, holding his hand out to Snyder. Burns followed suit and yanked Jamie onto his feet.

“Where’d you get the gun?”

“I was on watch.”

Rigs nodded. “Thank fuck. Now what?”

He longed to pass the mantle of responsibility over to someone else. He wanted someone to tell him what to do.

Burns shrugged. “I don’t know. Rafts?”

Snyder still had his hand in a vicelike grip. Rigs winced. “Fine. Let’s go.”

After a nasty tangle with a Chief who ordered them to stay where they were (Rigs and Burns ended up punching him at the same time), they left him lying on the deck as they ran towards the rafts. Rigs couldn’t help but think they’d left him for certain death.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Burns yelled over the commotion of people around them as they weaved their way in and out of the crowd. “I’m not fucking staying to find out, if you know what I’m fuckin saying…”

More gunshots banged behind them and more screams followed. More and more people were running towards the commotion, leaving the rafts unguarded.

Every ounce of military bearing and training had fled in the wake of the cannibals. Granted, no one knew the protocol for dealing with crazy fuckers. At the moment, Rigs did not give a fuck. He wanted to get the hell out of dodge. They could worry about the consequences later.

Burns glanced over his shoulder “Fuck, hurry up and get into the raft before Emerson comes over.”

But they were too slow, baby-faced Emerson shoved his way into their raft. “Move over, assholes.”

Tempting as it was to knock Andrew Emerson into the ocean, he ultimately decided against it. In the end it would be too much paperwork and there were too many witnesses. Instead, Rigs settled for glaring at him, while hissing through his teeth, “Any idea what’s going on here?”

“Don’t know,” Emerson replied, shifting through the backpack he’d swung in front of his large stomach. “Don’t care. We’re getting the fuck out of dodge.”

Snyder sniffled. “Won’t we get arrested for going UA?”

Emerson rolled his eyes. “I don’t think this is the only place this is happening.”

“Well, we’ll just explain what happened,” Jamie said.

Rigs didn’t think it would be that easy, but he decided against saying anything.

Jamie, deciding to finally be useful, pulled out life jackets from the raft and began handing them out. Rigs secured his, squinting back towards the runways.

“Too bad we can’t take a COD…”

Emerson snorted. “Who’s gonna fly it?” Then under his breath he muttered. “Ignorant spick.”

“Hey, you know what,” Rigs said, his eyes narrowing. “Quit fucking calling me a spick. I’m sick and fucking tired of it. If you fucking do it again I’m going to throw you off the side of the raft and you’ll have to fucking paddle your own fat ass ashore.”

Burns, Jamie and Snyder all stared at him open mouthed. For once he’d done what all of them, and his wife, had urged. He stood up for himself. Emerson’s round, shiny face turned red, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at two dark figures running their way.

They shouted, drowning out the screams. “Oy! You five. Get on the raft.”

The five of them obliged, watching as two youngish sailors clicked everything in place, getting ready to lower them down. One of them thrust a piece of paper into Rigs hand. “Get to land. Get this to the Admiral. If all has gone to shit there, get the fuck to Washington as fast as your sorry asses will take you.”

“What’s going on?” Rigs asked, raising his voice to be heard over the din of people suddenly surrounding them.

“It’s all on the paper,” the sailor said, swiping his nose with his wrist. “Whatever you do, don’t fucking get bit.”

Get bit? What did that even mean? But, before Rigs could ask another question, the five of them were being lowered into the choppy ocean water. He pulled out the pocket protector containing his CAC card and a picture of his wife and stuffed the paper inside and shoved them both into Emerson’s backpack, where it was least likely to get wet.

Burns and Jamie each grabbed a paddle and they furiously rowed the raft away, fighting against the rage of the sea. Rigs gripped the side of the raft and realized he was trembling. Snyder put a reassuring hand on his arm; but he shoved it off, placing his hand  on his convulsing stomach and swore to himself he wasn’t going to puke. There would always be time for that later.

To occupy his mind, he scanned the waters for another raft, but there were none in sight. He could only hope they weren’t the only ones who made it off the ship. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching the carrier grow smaller and smaller until he could no longer see the lights. When he turned forward, he could see the shore, a faint blue line in the first morning light.

Was it morning already? He rubbed a hand over his face and took in a deep breath, trying to process the events of the last three hours. But his brain couldn’t make sense of it.

Snyder’s head rested on his shoulder, while Emerson vomited over the side of the raft. Jamie sat with his head in his hands and Burns frowned at the horizon.

“Yo, you sure we’re going the right way?” Burns asked.

“Not a fucking clue, I’m not a—” He had started to say that he wasn’t a sailor. Burns caught his eye and the two of them started laughing, a little hysterically. Snyder and Jamie looked at them alarmed, but Burns waved them off.

Rigs took a deep breath and gestured across Snyder. “That’s land right there. We weren’t too far from Norfolk, let’s just fucking hope that’s Norfolk and we can fucking flag someone down.”

Burns nodded. “I don’t see any other rafts.”

Of course he was right, but what could they do about it now? “We can’t worry about that now. Let’s just get to shore.”

He felt like he was coming down out of a bad high. His body shook, his brain rattled in his skull and his breathing came in short, uneven spurts. Unable to make sense of anything, he turned to watch the sun rise, allowing his mind to wipe completely blank.

It was the most beautiful sunrise he’d ever seen. Gorgeous streaks of pink, purple and blue blended together as the gold and orange light began to emerge from the dark, fluffy clouds. It was exactly the kind of sunrise Meghan would have loved. He closed his eyes and pictured her sweet face with its upturned nose and wide, dark eyes. Her smile, her laugh, that stupid flowery perfume. It all made his heart ache. He wanted his wife more than anything in the world.

Snyder coughed, pulling him from his daydream. Rigs opened his eyes and gazed at the four dirty, downtrodden faces with a grimace. They all returned his stare with questioning glances, asking him what to do next. He didn’t have a fucking clue. Nor did he want to.

A sigh escaped his mouth and he jerked his hand through his military grade haircut. “First, we’ve got to see where the hell we’ve landed. Then…Then we’ll go from there.”

With that, he jumped from the life raft, into the waist deep water and began to push. Burns and Emerson followed suit, while James and Clara used the paddles. He winced as the frigid, choppy waves slapped his belly and as the water filled his boots.

Together, the five of them brought the raft ashore.

They all collapsed along the beach, panting and red-faced. Shivering, he unlaced his boots and dumped out as much water as he could.

He looked at baby faced-Emerson, their Lead Petty Officer. If anyone should be taking the lead, it should be him. But Emerson simply sat there, staring at the horizon, haunted by shadows only he could see.

Rigs lay back in the sand and closed his eyes. Meghan’s face swam in his mind again. He wanted her so bad that his chest was fit to burst. He needed to lay his head on her soft breasts, hear her beating heart, hold her and protect her. All the things he’d promised her on their wedding day. To make up for every time he’d neglected her since.

The nagging suspicion he may never see her again loomed over him like a storm cloud.


End file.
